


Devout

by Aris



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Gen, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris/pseuds/Aris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't eat.</p><p>Repeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It starts when Bruce calls Tony in for a health-check, something along the lines of a weigh-in, a fat percentage check and 'look-see' into Tony's blood sugar levels. Tony can't think of anyone else who was called in, but he can't remember a lot on three hours of sleep - except for how to build a robot, or create an AI. Simple things were easy to let slip free, and he didn't think very hard on it until, well.

Until he stepped on the scale.

"A weight gain of 5lb.6, sir." JARVIS's voice rang out with an oddly final feel to it, and Tony watched as Bruce frowned at his clipboard.

"Have you been training a lot, Tony?"

"No, I've been in the lab the last few weeks, working on Mark..." a pause, "Mark 16." More like Mark 37, but Bruce didn't need to know that, not really.

"A percentage of body fat of 19% percent, sir." Bruce was frowning, again, and looking down at his clipboard, eyes darting from one side to the other.

"What's up, doc?"

and, then;

"A blood sugar level of 120 mg/dL, sir."

"Tony, have you eaten in the last two hours?" Tony opened his mouth to answer but JARVIS was already relaying that no, Tony has not eaten since four hours earlier, which had been one of his 'sugar binges' starring a very brightly coloured bag of lollipops which were easy to consume while working. Tony was a very practical man, after all. And he may or not have a soft spot for strawberry flavoured lollipops.

"Aw, come on now Bruce, all you've done is frown since I got here and ask me questions - am I dying? Is that it?" Tony stepped off the scale and grabbed his t-shirt of the chair next to it, pulling it over his head and ruffling his hair as Bruce got himself together, placing his clipboard down on the side.

"No- not dying," he runs his finger down the side of paper, "just your blood sugar levels were a bit higher than they should considering you haven't eaten recently - and your body fat percentage is two percent over a strictly athletic range, higher than it was last time. I think we need to clear up your eating habits, buddy, or we're looking at some serious health problems, putting in some more hours training should help with the weight gain, too."

Tony stared at him.

"Are you saying I have to go on a diet?"

 

###### 

A diet.

Tony stared at himself in the mirror, resting his hands on the slight protrude of his stomach, feeling it give slightly at the pad of his fingers. A diet. Tony pushed his fingers further and was at loss when they managed to squish down a considerable amount of pudge, a dismayed expression working it's way onto his face. The muscle was still there - he could feel it, hard and unyielding - but it was now covered with a light layer of fat that was beginning to wipe away his muscle definition - a few more pounds and he could kiss goodbye to his six-pack.

He can't even remember eating enough to get to this state but - no, that's not quite true. Pizza night fridays (Tony could eat a whole pizza), after-sex pancakes (how many in the last week, three? four?), all those burgers Happy insists on eating because he 'skips so many meals while he's in his lab' and he 'looks like he's wasting away'. Well. Obviously not. Almost 6 lb weight gain. A few more and he was talking a gain of one whole stone, more than enough to start throwing around the word 'fat' - that is, if it wasn't already in question.

His nails dug down into his fat, boring dark, red crescents into the flesh there. He was going to have to lose this, this- this pouch.He was no good to the team if he couldn't fit into the Iron Man suit, and a fat ball of metal was far less imposing to any threats than the figure he currently cut, or had cut. He had made adjustments to the latest suit to give it more space, but that was because he was going to add more shock-absorbers, right? Had he unconsciously noted his weight gain and decided to inflate the suit so he'd still fit into it? Was he already the laughing stock of the Avengers - the Fat Man, who was only good for his money?

God, what if he was only on the team for his money?

Tony Stark didn't cry.

He just a little sleep deprived, that's all.

###### 

It's stupidly easy not to eat.

It's all 'I'm busy,' and 'I'll eat later,' and everyone just nods and takes it on face value because, well, Tony's fat. Why would he intentionally miss meals? Fat people loved food. It's not like missing a few meals is a big deal when Tony's got his entire body mass to eat away at - 170lb of it, according to JARVIS. Tapping into extra fat reserves wouldn't be a disaster, after all, and with some well placed exercise his metabolism should keep burning over, stopping his body from entering starvation mode.

He knew the facts. He was in control.

He doesn't avoid food completely, but rather is cautious about it. He can't escape a meal every night, now that Bruce wants him on a diet. He eats with him, opting for a salad or fish (lean as it is, the calories are a vague, nudging worry at the back of his mind) and Brace nods approvingly, praising Tony for taking an interest in his health. Tony doesn't like salad, not at all, and he's never been one for fish but he spent three hours researching into carbohydrates and fats and how his body works and suddenly pasta and bread aren't such amazing food options, and meats are completely off the menu because the fat content made Tony's skin crawl with anxiety. He really has to keep a close eye on his fat intake, anyway, because the last thing he needs is a heart attack from an unhealthy diet. 

Four days from the realisation he is fat, Tony announces he is now a pescatarian.

Bruce is over the moon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to emphasise that everyone's eating disorder is different - it can creep up slow, over years and months, or it can snap down in a day. In this, it's relatively fast moving, but there is the insinuation of time passing between each lapse - this can be up to two weeks at some points, so if it looks a little unrealistic look out for indications of time change. This fic is mainly a vent for me and my own eating, which came on rather fast, so there's that as well aha
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)

His hands are shaking but he's only lost 0.5 lb today. Eating now would mean another failure in Tony's life, another thing he couldn't get right. It's been a string of ' _not good enough_ ' ever since Howard died; those little mistakes forever reminding Tony he will always be in the shadow of his father, the great Howard Stark.

"Sir, it has been over twelve hours since you last ate. I would recommend eating within the next hour to avoid-"

"Mute."

Tony's skin is slick with sweat from his training session with Steve - another party happy with Tony's sudden interest in being healthy, Steve approves he's taking the team so seriously - but, yeah, it's starting to feeling itchy beneath his clothes. He can't bring himself to lift his t-shirt off, however, as his eyes catch sight of his reflection. He doesn't want to see himself undressed. It's stupid and Tony can't help but feel like one of those teenage girls he's seen in adverts, the ones who stand for hours pulling at their skin, sinking their fingers into their stomachs, worrying over skin. Feeling pathetic, he covers the mirror with a sheet from the bed and is briefly glad Pepper left all those months ago. She always had a habit of asking the wrong questions. Or the right ones. Tony was never sure.

He closes his eyes in the shower, and tries not to see his bulging thighs when he wraps the towel around his whole body. He doesn't want to think about it, about food, his body, anything, but he asks JARVIS his calorie total for today, anyway.

"A negative net of 1456, sir."

"How much of a stone is that?"

"Near a half."

Tony cursed and ran his hands through his hair, feeling the wet locks stick up after his intrusion. After a dinner with Bruce, which could be anywhere between three hundred to four hundred calories, there'd only be a net of around -1000, no where near acceptable if Tony were to be at 167 lb by Thursday.

"Sir, given your current diet, your blood sugar levels are likely to be low and may affect cognitive functions." when Tony created JARVIS he hadn't slept in days, maybe even a week, and he'd still managed to produce an intelligent, competent AI who was capable of learning instruction and mirrored the language he heard around him. Said AI also had access to the entire internet, and enough terabytes to store it multiple times over, if Tony ever wanted to. Making things, tinkering, was all Tony was good for. If a lack of sleep couldn't stop him, neither would a lack of food. He would make sure of it.

"JARVIS, don't make me mute you,"

"Of course, sir."

###### 

Tony doesn't notice he's been avoiding everyone till Friday swings around and he's up from his lab, ready to make a tomato and sharon fruit salad for Bruce and him, and he sees Thor for the first time in over a week. He seems to be trying to break something in the kitchen, which means he's probably been trusted to make his own food. Never a good sign.

"Hey there, big guy. You press this button to open it." Tony rests a hand on Thor's wrist and reaches round to press on a small white rectangle which causes the microwave door to spring open. Thor startles a little and removes his fingers from the door, where he'd been trying to forcibly pry it open, a sheepish smile taking over his golden features.

"Man of Iron!" Thor takes Tony into a hug, crushing his body against Tony's, disabling Tony from hugging back. Thor's warm, and it's nice to see his friend again, but all Tony can really think about is the way his fatty stomach presses against Thor's solid one, and how much Thor might weigh. Probably more than Tony, given all his muscle. Tony doubts there's a scrap of fat on him, despite how much Thor eats.

 _Gods._ Quite literally.

"It is good to see you again, friend, it has been long." Tony smiles at Thor, albeit tightly, and goes to make his own dinner, answering with a quick 'good to see you too, Thor'. He notices Thor loading slices of pizza into the microwave without a plate and almost sighs, pushing down the sudden craving he has for the junk food. It's something like one-hundred calories per slice, which means three slices of pizza would have more calories than Tony's intended meal. It's scary, really, when he thinks about it - which is something he's trying to avoid lately, given the build up of small, crescent shaped marks decorating his stomach and arms.

The smallest things make the biggest difference.

Tony starts to put together the ingredients, chopping and mixing but feeling sick at the overpowering smell of melted cheese coming from Thor's plate. Thor hangs around in the kitchen, talking joyfully about Jane and parading around his perfectly sculpted, zero percent fat body and stuffing his face with said pizza, like it wasn't crawling with with the very stuff Tony was trying his hardest to lose. He would kill for that metabolism, he doesn't doubt it, but all he can do is press down on the knife with more force than strictly necessary, butchering the food beneath it and wishing he'd stayed down in his lab, where he could mute anything that tried to interrupt him.

"Man of Iron?" Tony is abruptly brought back from whether it was his mind had wandered, and he stared down at the knife, digging into the wooden chopping board, and then to Thor. "What ails you?"

Tony paints on a smile in response to the God's frown, and deftly moves the knife back up again and towards the next cut.

"Nothing, Thor. Just zoned out for a moment there, I'm doing fine."

Right, yeah.

Bruce comes in a few moments later, and Tony excuses himself back to his lab, head full of scarred boards and half promises. He'll eat later - right?

###### 

He's in control.

"Sir, protocol #29-05-29 is being deployed, Dr Banner is on his way to the lab now." 

"What? JARVIS?" Tony starts from his position at a counter, "what's that protocol for?" he rubs his head warily, it's pounding incessant since it started up an hour ago. Getting worse, even. He wishes he had the common sense to keep some pain medication down here - though, it wouldn't go so hot with the alcohol.

"I am to call for assistance if you deprive yourself from food for over a twenty-four hour period." 

Tony groans. "Remind me again why I set that up?"

"I believe Miss Potts prompted you to do so, sir."

"Bring up the command." 

By the time Bruce arrives, let in silently by a sulky JARVIS, Tony is well into removing all and any protocols relating to his health. Without sleep for over forty-eight hours, surpassing maximum blood alcohol limits, passing out due to this or that... it's amazing how many Pepper managed to sneak in, really, and explained how she was always there at the right time. 

"Tony? JARVIS said you need to eat," Bruce holds a plate of the tomato and sharon fruit salad Tony had made earlier (yesterday?) in his hand, hurriedly served and all over the plate. Tony's stomach twisted, and he slowly got to his feet, wondering how to play this. He didn't want to eat - didn't want to ruin his wonderfully empty streak. There were over three hundred calories on that plate alone, 10% of a stone, closer to fat that Tony needed to be, Had to be. For the team.

165lb. Almost back to where he was before, but still not enough. He could be faster, slimmer, fitter - Tony Stark 2.0. He was just building another suit, one that didn't need calories to function. One that fed off itself, preyed on endless reserves of fat.

He takes the plate from Bruce, and smiles his signature smile, "It's an old protocol, I was just updating and had to run a tester - glad it reached you and not Point Break. He'd break my poor glass doors in two. Or, well. Thousand of pieces. Glass." He takes a piece of tomato from the salad and pops it into his mouth, trying to look casual about eating. Barely any calories, he'd burn it off in minutes. It doesn't count. It doesn't count. 

Bruce laughs.

"I see your point,"

And he asks what Tony has been working on and they end up picking pieces from the salad together while they talk, sharing the plate between them over a cluttered work surface. Tony is so absorbed in the conversation, enjoying the easy bounce they have between each-other, doesn't realise he's eating so fast until Bruce tells him to stop being greedy, and he becomes painfully aware of how empty his side of the plate is growing, how he was taking multiple pieces each time he reached forward. Despite Bruce's playful tone, he feels sick to the core, and snaked his hands under the table, squished between his chunky thighs, to prevent himself from reaching for more.

It only lasts five more minutes, their talking, before Tony excuses himself to his bedroom under the pretence of needing rest. It's not a lie, exactly.

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike most of my other work, I have a good amount of this already written up. Enjoy ^_^
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://norsed.tumblr.com)


End file.
